III
From Goa’s precious sands to Lisbon’s shore.
The viceroy’s countless wealth that vessel bore:
In heaps there jewels lay of various dyes,
Ingots of gold, and pearls of wondrous size;
And there (two gems worth all that Cortez won)
He placed his angel niece and only son.
Sebastian sought the Moors! With loyal zeal
Rosalvo cased his youthful limbs in steel;
To die or conquer by his sovereign’s side
He came; and with him came his destined bride.
E’en now in Lisbon’s court for Irza’s hair
Virgins the myrtle’s nuptial crown prepare,
And Hymen waves his torch from Cintra’s towers,
Hails the dull bark, and chides the slow-winged hours.
Seldom in this bad world two hearts we see
So blest, and meriting so blest to be;
Then oh! ye winds, gently your pinions move,
And speed in safety home the bark of love.
Brood, Halcyon, brood: thy sea-spell chaunt again,
And keep the mirror of the enchanted main,
Where his white wing the exulting tropic dips,
Calm as their hearts, and smiling as their lips.
The charm prevails! Hushed are the waves and still;
The expanded sails light favouring zephyrs fill.
Wafting with motion scarce perceived; and now
In rapture Irza from the vessel’s prow
Gazed on an isle with verdure gay and bright,
Which seemed (so green it shone in solar light)
An emerald set in silver. Long her eyes
Dwelt on its rocks; and “Oh! dear friend,” she cries,
And clasps Rosalvo’s hand,—“admire with me
Yon isle, which rising crowns the silent sea!
How bold those mossy cliffs, which guard the strand,
Like spires, and domes, and towers in fairy-land!
How green the plains! how balsam-fraught the breeze!
How bend with golden fruit the loaded trees;
While, fluttering midst their boughs in joyful notes,
Myriads of birds attune their warbling throats!
Blooms all the ground with flowers! and mark, oh! mark
That giant palm, whose foliage broad and dark
Plays on the sun-clad rock!—Beneath, a cave
Spreads wide its sparry mouth: while loosely wave
A thousand creepers, dyed with thousand stains,
Whose wreaths enrich the trees, and cloathe the plains.
Dear friend, how blest, if passed my life could be
In that fair isle, with God alone and thee,
Far from the world, from man and fiend secure,
No guilt to harm us, and no vice to lure!
Bright round the virgin’s shrine would blush and bloom
That world of flowers, which pour such rich perfume;
And sweet yon caves repeat with mellowing swell
Eve’s closing hymn, when chimed the vesper-bell.”
The pilot heard—“Oh! spring of life,” he cried,
“How bright and beauteous seems the world untried!
I too, like you, in youth’s romantic bowers
Dreamt not of wasps in fruit, nor thorns in flowers;
And when on banks of sand the sunbeams shone,
I deemed each sparkling flint a precious stone.
Ah! noble lady, learn, that isle so fair,
The fields all roses, and all balm the air,
That isle is one, where every leaf’s a spell,
Where no good thing e’er dwelt, nor e’er shall dwell.
No fisher, forced from home by adverse breeze,
Would slake his thirst from yon infernal trees:
No shipwrecked sailor from the following waves
Would seek a shelter in those haunted caves.
There flock the damned! there Satan reigns, and revels!
And thence yon isle is called (( The Isle of Devils!”
Nor think, on rumour’s faith this tale is given:
Once, hot in youthful blood, when hell nor heaven
Much claimed my thoughts, (the truth with shame I tell;
Holy St. Francis, guard thy votary well! )
In quest of water near that isle I drew:
When lo! such monstrous forms appalled my view,
Such shrieks I heard, sounds all so strange and dread,
That from the strand with shuddering haste I fled,
Plyed as for life my oars, nor backward bent my head.
And though since then hath flown full many a year,
Still sinks my heart, still shake my limbs with fear,
Soon as yon awful island meets mine eye!
Cross we our breasts! say, ‘Ave!’ and pass by!”